


No Reins: He Ain't The Leaving Kind

by MonoclePony



Series: Saddles and Stirrups [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry I couldn't leave the boys alone, Littlefoot being a big horsie, M/M, No Reins spinoff, Titan being Titan, after the endings, horse riding AU, post-No Reins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm sorry I couldn't leave the dumb horse nerds alone, so here have a mini thing... it was meant to be a oneshot, but nope it has to be split into two because I'm a nerd and need to write lots for everything. Derp.</p><p>Anywho, this is set 6 years after the end of No Reins (not including the epilogue), and Jean and Marco have settled into domestic life far better than both expected. Marco's got his showjumping circuits, and Jean has his teaching. But someone turns up who rocks Marco's world to its limits, and he needs more support than ever to get through it. Lucky he's got Jean Kirschtein, his rock, to make sure he doesn't crumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank the wonderful hachidorikun on tumblr for this because we were bouncing headcanons and whelp they sorta killed me with everything they were saying- hence this. 
> 
> As usual, ma tumblr is here: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/
> 
> And yah, enjoy I guess! Or groan at the fact I can't leave my dumb horse nerd babies alone, either or~

The sun was barely up in the sky when he was woken up. In fact, it was being eclipsed by the large expanse of grey cloud that always coated Jinae in the throes of winter. It was a fresh morning, the chill rushing through the thickest of coats and leaving every living thing shivering, but the gentle strands of sunlight peeking through the weaker points of cloud seemed to promise the onset of a warmer day than the last.

And as Marco stood, leaning against the worn fence of the arena and breath escaping in tiny clouds of their own, he wondered if being dragged out of bed by his frantic husband was worthwhile grounds for divorce. _Probably not,_ he decided as he took a long sip of coffee in an attempt to warm himself up. Besides, he couldn’t help giving in to the pleading looks Jean gave him. They’d been together long enough that Jean knew how to push Marco’s buttons and get what he wanted. He had even gone so far as to make Marco’s coffee for him, reaching out and planting a kiss on his long-suffering partner’s forehead and smiling at the way Marco softened. The reason Marco was out in the cold, trying to keep warm with quickly cooling coffee, was trotting around the arena with its head up and smaller than usual tail flicking out behind it.

Littlefoot, Sina’s colt, was now a strong and healthy four year old, and the time had come for him to be backed and trained properly. Marco had suggested that they take him to Levi, but Jean had looked at him with scandalised shock. “I’m not letting anyone else train my baby!” he’d said, and though Marco had tried to reason with him Jean’s sour face won out. Sometimes, Marco marvelled at the fact that Jean was twenty four and not six, contrary to popular belief.

He stood there barely moving, and admitted to himself that the colt was looking good. Littlefoot had the slender limbs of his mother, along with her large eyes and constantly attentive ears. The feather that tickled his heels and added a bit of extra weight to him clearly came from his sire, but it didn’t change the fact that the young horse moved rather elegantly. Littlefoot grew taller and taller as time went by, and was now at the same height as Sina with no sign of stopping. He was going to be a match for Titan, at the rate he was growing. Marco blew on his coffee a little, more out of habit than out of actual fear of scalding, and met the eyes of Jean in the centre. Jean gave him a big, bright smile, and called out, “See? Look how he moves for me! Isn’t he doing great?”

Marco smiled and nodded. “He’s definitely something.”

Jean surprised him more and more each day. He still had his moments- they wouldn’t ever go away fully, Marco reckoned- but it seemed that everything that had been sitting cramped on his shoulders had vanished. Pressure from his father, pressure from Marlow, pressure from anyone, all of it was gone, and Jean looked the better for it. He didn’t twitch when anyone called his name at a louder volume than usual, had less of an aversion to the word ‘sweets’ (though he still shuddered every now and again) and didn’t seize up half as much if he spotted anyone distinctly Marlow-shaped in the village. He still got stressed, still found it difficult sometimes trying to juggle teaching with spending quality time with Marco and riding Sina to the best of his ability, but they weren’t big problems.

They were easy.

And Jean was _happy_. He was so happy, and that was enough for Marco. Just to know that he was the reason for Jean’s smiles and laughter made him feel that little bit warmer. Of course, the colt helped.

He took another sip of his coffee and watched as Jean made a soft clucking noise with his tongue and Littlefoot broke his circuit to trot into the centre, blowing softly through his nostrils and butting Jean in the chest playfully. “Hey, hey now, don’t you do that little boy,” Jean scolded him, grinning when the colt burrowed his head into Jean’s jacket in an attempt to fend off the biting cold. His winter coat hadn’t come through yet, and he was clearly feeling it. Marco’s smile grew. Jean smiling was sweet enough - Jean cooing and fussing over the young horse was all different kinds of cute.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jean scared, and he was grateful for that.

“Are you going to back him or what?” he shouted over to him.

Jean’s gaze flickered up to Marco and raised a brow. “Good things come to those who wait, Marco!” he retorted, Littlefoot’s head still firmly lodged in his grasp as the colt stood quiet. “He wants some lovin’ first.”

Marco chuckled. “That colt is so spoilt having you as an owner, you know!”

“He’s my baby,” Jean snorted, as if that clarified the matter, “and he’s yours too, so be nice to him.”

“If you start calling Littlefoot our child I think there might be a problem with your head, sweetheart.”

Jean merely let out a scoff as he threaded his fingers through the inky black mane, the soft expression falling over his face once again. Marco only saw him that content when he was around horses, or tangled around Marco’s body in bed, and it was a look that sent beads of warmth dripping down his spine like candlewax.

Marco let out another chuckle, looking down into his coffee cup. “You know, I worry about our future children if you’re this sappy over a horse.”

Jean immediately straightened up as his eyes shot to Marco. They looked hopeful. Marco felt a pang at the way Jean wetted his lips, almost nervously, and replied, “You’ve been thinking about it.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Jean seemed to know it was true.

Marco nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he agreed.

“And?” Jean blinked in rapid succession.

Marco gave him a loose shrug and a gentle nod.

Jean’s reaction was immediate. He let go of Littlefoot’s mane and raced towards Marco, leaping at him with a whoop of glee. There was a shout of “mind my coffee!” as Jean wrapped his arms around Marco’s neck and yanked him closer. It was as though he was trying to drag him through the fence and into the arena with him. Marco was then accosted with kisses on every inch of his face Jean could reach, kisses like raindrops that were swift yet sweet. Though he was making a valiant effort to save his coffee from a cold, spilt fate, Marco was laughing. It was a breathless, natural laugh, and it carried over to where Littlefoot was stood watching them with a bemused expression. He was leaning into each kiss, face aching with the weight of his smile, and he planted kisses of his own wherever he could; the curve of Jeans jaw, the shell of his ear, anywhere.

When Jean did pull away, he nuzzled his forehead against Marco’s, bumping their noses together clumsily. It made Marco smile. “We’re having a baby?” Jean asked in earnest.

Marco grinned. “If you want to. I’ve been talking to Bastien…”

“Sly fucker.”

“…and he’s been getting papers drawn up for us. He’s been on the phone to a few agencies and he thinks he might have found someone.”

“You’ve been planning this a while?” Jean’s voice cracked a little.

“Well, I knew you’ve wanted a baby for a while,” Marco said. Jean had been pretty adamant about it, in fact; during a drunken night out a month before their wedding, Jean had wailed because he couldn’t get pregnant and have grumpy freckly babies with him, even if they tried their hardest. Even when sober, Marco had seen the way Jean’s eyes lit up whenever he was in the presence of Connie and Sasha’s new baby boy- to Sammy’s disgust. Jean didn’t have to say anything- Marco knew. Plus, Jean _did_ talk about it. Constantly. “And, well… I think you’ve waited long enough. I’m ready.”

Jean sniffled then, the kiss he gave Marco shaky. “You want a baby with me?” he asked in a small voice.

Marco chuckled. “I want a baby with you.”

Jean let out a small, happy sob, and kissed him again. Jean still liked to hide away his emotion sometimes, but Marco didn’t mind. Jean let him in when it was important, in the privacy of their bedroom when they were dressing for bed and he would just take Marco’s hand and let himself go. Still, he couldn’t help pulling away a little to see the small tear tracks down Jean’s face. He softened his smile. “Hey, you’re meant to be happy about this, baby,” he said, trailing his free hand through Jean’s hair. His smile wavered when Jean hid his face away in his chest. “You… are happy, right?”

“I love you,” Jean mumbled into his shirt. “And I am happy, you idiot. I’m… so happy…” He tightened his grip ever so slightly, pressing himself closer against the wooden bars. “It better be a cute baby,” he sniffed. “Needs to be so fuckin’ cute it’ll make Jaeger broody. And end all wars.”

Marco laughed, all trace of nerves gone, and pressed a small kiss into Jean’s hair. He knew it wouldn’t matter what it was like; Jean would love it unconditionally, and give so much love. “You’ll be a good father,” he murmured, and he felt Jean sob more than he heard him. “You will be. You’ll let them get away with murder sometimes, granted, because they’re your little prince or princess, but that’s okay. It’ll be great.” He let his gaze wander down, and his nose wrinkled. “Aw, no,” he said.

“What?” Jean pulled away.

“My coffee.” The cup was tilted at an impossible angle to keep anything inside it, and most was slowly seeping into the cold concrete and fence posts. The rest was soaking into Jean’s fleece.

Jean whined. “I didn’t even notice, shit.”

“It’s okay, you’ve got a while until you have your first lesson,” Marco pointed out, setting the coffee cup down on the fence post, in disgrace. “Go and change, I can take Littlefoot back to his stable- seeing as you were never going to try backing him in the first place because you’re too soft.”

“I was going to back him!” Jean huffed, backing away from the fence as Marco headed to the gate, “but anyone would get distracted if their beautiful, amazing husband said they were going to try for a baby.”

Marco shook his head, grinning as he slid the gate to and clicked his tongue in the colt’s direction. Littlefoot had been trying to pluck a few choice leaves from an overhanging tree, but at the noise turned his full attention to Marco. He knew Marco as the stern one, and gave out a little snort of indignation. “You say ‘trying for a baby’ like one of us is going to get pregnant,” he remarked, smiling at the colt’s reluctance to come over. He dug around in his pockets and found a stray sugared almond, bringing it out as bribery material. As Littlefoot considered his offer he heard Jean snigger behind him.

“Well, _I’m_ not the one getting pregnant,” Jean said.

“I don’t think you know how adoption works, Jean. Or pregnancy.”

“Shush, you know I was joking. Humour me.”

“It wasn’t a funny joke.”

“Fuck you, I’m hysterical.”

Marco chuckled as Littlefoot finally decided that it was a good idea to go over, and soon had the velvet muzzle lipping his palm for the treat. Marco took hold of the colt’s headcollar and gave it a gentle tug. Littlefoot, with a little grumble that reminded Marco too much of Jean, obediently followed, hooves making small crescents in the arena sand. “I’ll make sure he’s back in his stable,” Marco said, “and I need to wait out here for the vet. Titan needs his check-up and a Tetanus vaccination for when we start the circuits again.”

Jean let out a soft, sad sigh. “I wish you didn’t have to go sometimes,” he said, falling into place with him.

Marco felt a stab of guilt. He was at the top of his game, his field, and Titan was destroying competitions left, right and centre, but he still hated leaving. All the prize money and trophies in the world couldn’t fill the void Jean left when he wasn’t around. Marco was happy, sure, but not content. He never wanted to leave Jean behind, and if he didn’t have such a successful backlog of students waiting to be taught then he was sure Jean wouldn’t hesitate in coming with him. Still, this was the last major international circuit he would be doing for a long time; he would be sticking to more local competitions once the ball was set rolling for the adoption, and had mentioned to his team that he would be taking some time off to spend time with his new family. They were all so supportive of him that Marco knew there would be no problem whatsoever. “It won’t be for long,” he replied to Jean, and meant it. It wouldn’t. Not if he could help it. Only six competitions stretched over three weeks. That was doable, and quicker than the usual- not to mention that the last competition was held on the same ground as Jinae, which helped.

“I know, I know,” Jean said, waving off Marco’s concern. “It’s fine. I can handle it. I have a load of new students shipping in from Shiganshina next month so I’ll be kept busy.” Marco let out a squeak as Jean’s hand slid into the back pocket of his jeans. “Obviously, I’d much rather be kept busy with _you_ ,” Jean added with a sly grin.

Marco laughed. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

“What can I say, I got up on the right side of the bed.” Jean winked. “And I am _always_ good in the mornings, Mr. ‘Five More Minutes’.”

Marco grinned and planted a kiss on Jean’s cheek, still steering Littlefoot in the direction of his stall. “Go on, go and get changed,” he chided, “or else the vet will be here, your students will have turned up and you’ll be in your boxers.”

Jean swiped his tongue along the bottom of his lip with a teasing smile. “You say that as though you wouldn’t enjoy it,” he all-but purred.

Marco rolled his eyes and gave Jean a gentle shove with his hip. “Go on, you horny bastard, get going!” he laughed. Jean finally got the message and sauntered off, still grinning like the proverbial cat with cream, and Marco stopped to watch him with a small smile. Despite the cold, warmth had settled in his chest now, and he let it spread to his fingertips as he nudged Littlefoot onwards to his stall.

The colt was placed right next to his mother in the line of stalls, and Sina let out a gentle nicker at the sight of him returning. She had grown well, only a few years Titan’s junior and still as energetic as she had been when she was a mere five year old. Her head bobbed up and down at the sight of her son, and Littlefoot’s pace quickened to reach her. The mare and colt touched noses, Sina emitting a loud squeal moments later, and Marco finally let go of Littlefoot’s halter. The young horse bolted into the comfort of his stable and made a beeline for his haynet, ripping out chunks of meadow hay with a disgruntled whicker. “Hey, don’t blame me!” Marco muttered, “I wasn’t the one who dragged you out of bed early.” That didn't seem to matter to Littlefoot; he still continued to tear at his haynet, most unimpressed by the two legged watching him. Marco smiled to himself and gave Sina a passing pat for good measure, until he reached the stall beside her.

Titan was still led down, hooves tucked neatly underneath him with all the grace a snoozing warmblood could give. He was starting to develop a little circle of white hair around one hind leg, the makings of a marking that was clearly coming with age, and on catching sight of Marco he let out a rumbling whinny of welcome. Marco leant against the stable door with a wistful expression, and watched his horse shift about in his bedding. He couldn't even think of the days when he hadn't been able to go near the gelding; he wondered how he coped avoiding anything to do with him, how he managed to stay detached from everything that happened to him, and he knew in his heart of hearts that the simple answer was that he didn't cope. Not at all. And now, as he watched his horse unfold his legs, rock onto his feet and give a shake to expel the excess shavings clinging to his ink-black coat, he didn't know what he would have done without Jean there to convince him that it was worth trying. He made a small kissing noise with his lips, and Titan's ear flicked forwards. "C'mere big guy," Marco cooed, stretching out a hand as the giant stepped towards him, still drowsy by the way he butted his head into Marco's chest without warning. Marco let out an 'oof!' of complaint but couldn't bring himself to push Titan away. Instead, he let himself toy with the black forelock Titan had presented to him. "Are you going to be good for Nanaba today?" he asked the sleepy gelding. "No funny business, remember. You're past that, now. And Nanaba's very nice, you like Nanaba." He got a sleepy whicker in reply.

Nanaba was the resident vet, and was the unlucky soul Jean had called out when Sina went into labour. She was new to the area, having only lived there a few years after moving from Trost, and it meant that she was the one that everyone in the village seemed to come to with their animal problems. Ever since the fateful 4AM night with Jean and Sina, Nanaba had become a regular part of the scenery at the stables, especially where Champ was concerned; the old horse was in his late thirties by the time Marco had had to make the sad decision to put him down, and even then it was due to an onset of colic. Nanaba had been there for it all, and Marco had been forever grateful for the way she'd handled it. After Champ, she came to the stables for the routinely check ups, the worming, Littlefoot's vaccinations... anything that seemed to come up, Nanaba would be there for. Eleanor often joked with her that she had drawn a short straw and been assigned to them. Nanaba would just smile and shrug and say that she was there for a reason. She was good at her job, and devoted to it too.

She was also perfect with Titan. The gelding was not the easiest of animals to deal with, as Hannes so often found out when trying to shoe him, but Nanaba had a calming presence around the horses, and Titan was no exception. Along with being lulled by Nanaba’s calm ways, the years had mellowed out Titan's disposition far better than Marco had ever thought possible; the fire that had crackled and burned at the pit of his stomach was now reduced to a flickering, fleeting thing that rarely showed itself. At least now Marco didn't have to deal with vets being chased out of stables or paddocks by an angrily squealing horse anymore.

Titan pulled away from his touch and let out a snort through his nose, one ear flicking forward as he caught the familiar smell of medicine on the wind. "Now, now, you have to behave," Marco chided, hearing Nanaba's van mount the slope himself, "and it'll all be over before you know it. It's only a little shot, that's it. It won't hurt."

Titan threw his head up and snorted again. Clearly, he didn't believe Marco. "Come on," Marco said, snatching up Titan's black leadrope from where it hung beside his stable door, "let's go and say hello to Nanaba, shall we?"

Titan was behaving oddly, Marco noticed as he slid the bolt back and stepped inside. The gelding's frame was rippling, his eyes darting everywhere and a worried-sounding whistle came from his quivering muzzle as Marco stepped forward. He shuffled in his bedding, tossing his head. _Yeah_ , Marco realised, _something was definitely up_. He couldn’t remember the last time Titan had played up like this. The gelding could smell the clinical cleanliness of the veterinary van, and he did not like it one little bit. "Hey now, come on," Marco soothed, clipping the leadrope onto Titan's headcollar with a frown. "There's no need for that."

Titan appeared to think there was. He danced around Marco in the stall, his haunches swinging out and clipping the walls with dull thuds that left Marco wincing. "Stop it now," Marco said, giving the leadrope a gentle pull as he retreated back to the door. "You have to have your medicine and that's it."

Titan jerked his head up, neighing again, and it took all of Marco's patience and strength to get him out of the stall. Even then, he kept dancing on his toes and spinning around on his haunches. Sina and Littlefoot's heads were out of their doors watching the display with interest as Marco tried to keep the gelding until control. _Where was Jean when you needed him?_ Marco thought as he managed to stop Titan from rearing up and instead made him start a jaunty walk towards the main yard. They couldn't do anything for Titan when he was in a stall, after all; he was far too big, and far too dangerous to be cornered in an enclosed space. Nanaba understood. The first time she met Titan, Marco could tell by her wide eyes and dry nod that she would do anything to avoid angering the giant horse. He didn’t blame her.

He reached the main yard before Titan tried to rear again, and this time he succeeded. “Titan!” Marco yelled up at him as the gelding clamped his forelegs to his underbelly with a snort, only landing once Marco anchored him down. “You’re being ridiculous, come on! Calm down!” Titan had his ears pinned and head shaking feverishly as he landed, and Marco was beginning to consider telling Nanaba to come another time when Titan wasn’t feeling quite so rebellious. “I’m sorry about him,” he called over his shoulder at what he assumed to be Nanaba; he heard the door of the van slam shut as someone clambered out, at least. “He’s being a brat right now. Maybe he’ll calm down once he realises you’re not going to hurt hi-”

He’d turned around, aiming to flash a smile at Nanaba.

It wasn’t Nanaba.

The man who had stepped out of the veterinary van was older, with flecks of grey in his hair to counteract the fact that his hair was still thick. He had a thin layer of stubble adorning his jaw, not enough to be considered a beard, and was wearing the typical veterinary uniform. Marco didn’t care about that. What he cared about was that the pair of eyes, large and warm, that were staring at him like they were fiercely trying to memorise him, were his own.

The smile fell off his face.

_No. It couldn’t be._

He thought back to the fuzzy footage Armin had showed him all those years ago, all of the old family photos his mother had taken down in a fit of rage after they were left on their own. They all showed the same man that stood before him, looking just as surprised as he did.

_No. It couldn’t be._

“Marco,” he said, those same eyes lighting up. “I had to know if it was you.”

Marco was paralysed. He couldn’t bring himself to even breathe loudly, his grip on Titan’s leadrope suddenly his lifeline as he stared at his older counterpart, eyes slowly widening.

His father was here.

 His _father._

Jacob Bodt was standing before his son, and he looked happy to see him.

Marco still didn’t move.

Jacob chuckled a little nervously, scratching the back of his neck like Marco did whenever he was pushed into an uncomfortable situation. “I couldn’t help myself, you know. I saw that there was a horse in need of a booster and that its name was Titan and I just couldn’t imagine it being any other horse. I got curious, and I’m glad I did.” He took a step forward. “He… he looks good, son. You and your mother have taken good care of him. I knew we were onto a winner when I first laid eyes on him.”

Titan jerked his head away from the other man’s touch, ears still back and nostrils flaring. Marco saw more than felt his hands shaking on the rope that held the gelding. That explained Titan’s funny behaviour. One of the last times Titan had seen his father was in the aftermath of the accident, and it wouldn’t have been drudging up happy memories for the gelding. Marco managed to prise one trembling hand free and lay it on Titan’s flank, quietening him with a gentle shushing notion. He couldn’t bring himself to look back.

It didn’t go unnoticed. He heard the other man sigh. “Marco…” It was said softly, apologetically. “I know this is probably a bit of a shock, and I know I should have called ahead first, but I didn’t want to risk you telling me not to come.”

“Why are you here?” Marco said in a small voice. It was the first thing he’d managed to prise out of his shaking lips, and it was said with barely any conviction. He hated how pathetic he sounded. He wanted Jean.

“Marco, I just wanted to see you…”

“Wh-what if I don’t want to see you?” He hated it. He sounded so small, so inadequate. There was no strength in his words anymore, and he was surprised they weren’t shaking. It was all coming back. Titan was still, but Marco had a feeling that it was more for his benefit than for actual obedience; he could still feel the muscle twitching under the horse’s skin, primed to bolt at the slightest motion.

Jacob Bodt had stopped, his eyes widening a fraction just like Marco’s did. He looked surprised to hear such a thing, as though he expected Marco to be jumping for joy at his return, and that seemed to ignite something in the pit of Marco’s stomach. His eyes narrowed. How could he expect such a thing from him, after all the years of him being away? That was what prompted him to add, “We’ve been without you for years, me and mum. We’ve been doing okay.”

Jacob’s brows knit together. “Marco… son, I-”

“No.” Marco ran a hand down Titan’s neck, jerking away when the gelding threw his head up. “You… you can’t use that on me. D-don’t you dare.” Titan sidestepped to the right, a warning whinny coming from the base of his throat. Marco murmured to him in a soft voice, trying to control his emotion, whilst casting a glance back at his father.

“Marco-” Jacob tried.

“No!” Marco snapped. He finally snapped. It felt too good to be healthy, but he didn’t care. “I waited for you! I thought you were coming back, you didn’t say you were leaving, and you didn’t even say goodbye to me!”

His father took a step back, away from Marco’s temper, and sighed. He looked older all of a sudden, like all of the years he’d been gone had truly counted for something. Marco’s chest constricted painfully. “I’m not proud of what I did,” he said resignedly, “I’m really not. I didn’t think you’d understand.”  

“Of course I didn’t!” Marco shot back, glaring now. Poison he hadn’t felt in so long was spilling into his veins, back where it had been before, and there was no stopping it. He remembered when he had felt this way before, and tried to blot out the olive green, smirking face from his mind. _Focus._ “I was a teenager. I was scared. I’d been in a _fucking_ accident that meant I was scared of my own shadow, and you decided that then would be a perfect time to-”

“Marco?”

Marco’s form stiffened. He whirled around to see Jean striding towards him in a change of clothes, confusion twisting on his face. Marco looked wildly back to his father, and then back to Jean. He gulped. Jean’s confusion was quickly replaced with something else. His stride turned into a jog. “Hey, what is it?” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Marco didn’t look back at his father. He just looked at Jean, his eyes wide and slightly panicked, and Jean’s alarmed ones stared right back. “I heard Titan fussing, and then you-”

“I’m alright, Jean.” When he didn’t look convinced, Marco patted the hand on his shoulder shakily. “I’m alright,” he repeated, hoping that if he said it enough then it would be true. He felt Jean squeeze his shoulder, and leant into the touch despite himself. “C-can you just… can you just sort Titan out for me? I need to go inside for a little while.”

Jean frowned. “Sure, if that’s what you want. Are you sure you’re alri-”

“Marco, don’t do this.” Jacob stepped up, his face full of an emotion Marco couldn’t pinpoint. “Don’t, please, I’m trying to explain-”

“No, you’re not. You’re not the victim here, you know. Think about that.” Marco gave Titan’s reins over to Jean, his fingers brushing the back of his hand and sending thrills up his spine, and he turned to go. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stay there and pretend that everything would be alright in the end. No way. He could hear a set of footprints behind him, following him, and he gritted his teeth. “And don’t call me ‘son’. Not right now.”

He didn’t turn to see Jean’s reaction, nor his father’s. He just did the thing he had done all those years ago.

He bolted.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, you could’ve given me fair warning.”

Marco raised his head from the table to see a steaming mug of tea behind offered to him. He glanced up to see Jean’s weakly smiling face behind the curling vapour as he took it gratefully, cupping his hands around the comforting heat. It was the white horse mug. It was the ‘ _shit’s gone down and we need to talk’_ mug, and Marco glared down at the little dancing horses on the mug’s face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured in a wretched voice, sipping at the too-sweet tea as a way to pass the time. “I didn’t mean to storm off and leave you like that.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable of situations after that,” Jean admitted, sitting in the chair across from him. “You know how bad I am with small talk and making conversation with strangers.”

“I’m sorry,” Marco said again. He knew. He knew it well. “Wh-what did you talk about?”

Jean paused. “The weather, mainly,” he replied after a while. “And then something about ducks, I can’t remember, I wasn’t exactly paying attention. I was more worried about you.”

Marco ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. “I don’t know what came over me… I just couldn’t be there any longer.” Jean reached out for his hand, silently asking, and Marco took it with a small smile. “It’s just… he’s my _Dad,_ Jean. Who does he think he is, swanning in here like there’s nothing wrong when…” His voice trailed off.

Jean was frowning. His eyes were flickering over every inch of Marco’s face, processing quietly, and Marco’s heart jolted when they fell to the base of his throat. The pressure on Marco’s hand increased a little. “You said he left after your accident,” Jean said. “Is that why-”

“It was my fault, Jean.” Marco sighed. “I know it was. Who would have wanted a kid who had a panic attack every time he saw a horse, or heard hooves? I stopped being a son and started becoming a problem, and he couldn’t handle it. Sometimes I don’t blame hi-”

He didn’t get chance to finish. Jean had launched himself up from his seat and planted his lips on Marco’s, squeezing his hand on the table like it was going to slip free. Marco let his eyes slide shut and kissed him back, the heavy feeling in his chest quickly getting replaced with something far lighter. Jean was mumbling something, small half-words that Marco couldn’t catch between breaths, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to hear them if it meant breaking their connection.

They pulled apart moments later with slight gasps for air, and Jean let his head rest against Marco’s with a soft sigh. “Please don’t ever call yourself a problem,” he murmured, nuzzling him with another small kiss. “I don’t want to hear you talking about yourself like that, baby. Okay? You’re incredible, and if he doesn’t see that, then it’s his loss.” Marco nuzzled him back, relishing the feel of him so close even after all the years, and felt something settle inside him. And when Jean drew away, he found himself wishing him back. “But…” Jean said, lifting their entangled hands up to thread his fingers through Marco’s, “I think he realises what he walked away from now. Otherwise he wouldn’t have turned up.”

“You think?” Marco asked, watching him as he twirled their hands around like he was examining them.

Jean nodded. “Yup. He left his number with me, too. He wants to try, and maybe… I dunno, maybe you should try too? At least hear what he has to say. I know you, Marco: you blame everything on yourself, you let yourself take the fall for anything that goes wrong.” He planted a small kiss on his knuckles, his lips soft. “If it’s nothing else, perhaps it can be some sort of closure for you. It can tell you that you weren’t the reason he left. There could be a billion other reasons. And if it was because he couldn’t handle you then, then he shouldn’t be allowed to handle you now. You know?”

Marco stared at Jean for a few moments, ignoring his tea. “I don’t understand,” he said eventually.

“Mmm?”

“When did you start to make sense?”

Jean snorted. “Hey, shut up!” He grinned. “I just… well, he’s your family, so…” he brought their hands up to his lips and kissed the silver band around Marco’s fourth finger. “…he’s my family too. And I made a promise to help you a few years ago, and I’m not about to go back on that promise.”

Jean had gotten sappy. He always did when Marco was involved, and Marco couldn’t ever deny how much it got to him. He let a smile wander onto his face, a smile that had been lost for a while, and leaned across the table to kiss Jean softly. “I love you so much,” he said. “You always know what to say lately.”

“Lately?” Jean chuckled. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Where’s Jean and what did you do with him, handsome and gorgeous imposter?”

“Heyy.”

Marco got another kiss for his trouble, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he would call his father in the morning.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO this is finally finished *party poppers* 
> 
> I had to split it into two because it was such a beast though. It makes proof-reading it easier, at least, and nobody wants to read a massive 12k chunk of writing, right? :P
> 
> I hope you like this, the horse nerds really do have a soft spot in my heart. I'm not sure if I'll be able to let them go very easy...
> 
> Anyway, you have the wonderful hachidorikun to thank for this- if they hadn't inspired me with their wonderful headcanons for my boys I'm not sure this would be getting written, so thank you my dear, you deserve all the love <3
> 
> As always, you can find me on my tumblr here: attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com and seriously feedback is so SO appreciated, either on here or on there :)
> 
> *whispers* there is gratuitous smut friends watch outttt~

Rain was drumming on the windows the next day. A lot of the students Jean was meant to be teaching had cancelled, not wanting to risk their horses on the soaking terrain, and there weren’t enough to warrant an early morning lesson. Jean had changed the times around, given Marco a sleepy smile, and tried to drag him back to bed. Marco had protested, trying to tell him that the horses needed to be given their morning feed come rain or shine, but the look in Jean’s eyes had changed his mind almost instantly. He had rushed through the morning feeds, the rain unable to chill the heat brewing inside him. Sure enough, their bedroom was quickly filling to the brim with moans and pants that drowned out the relentless rain.

Jean had one hand splayed on Marco’s chest as he rocked in his lap, the noises spilling out of him so loud and lewd that it was working Marco up just as much as the way he was riding him. Jean liked to be in charge, no matter what he was doing, and Marco was all too happy to let him- within reason. He had one hand trying and failing to grip Jean in place as he thrust up into him, and the other was running over the hollows of his body. He let the hand trail up and flick at the nub of pierced flesh that made Jean suck in breath, and kept pinching and toying with it the harder they were moving against one another. The years had made him confident, a lot more confident than he’d been before, and now they were living alone in the house their opportunities to just leap at each other had increased tenfold. Now they were alone and independent, they were rutting against each other like horny teenagers at every opportunity- and something Marco had found out about Jean very early on was that he was insatiable. 

Jean was trying to pick up the pace, but Marco was refusing, a sly smile on his face as he watched him. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want it to end, not when he could hear his name being mewled out at him by a flushed, panting Jean. There was absolutely no incentive to stop that- none whatsoever. “Nn… Marco, please, fuck c’mon,” Jean complained, eyes shutting tight as Marco gave a particularly strong thrust, “N-need more…”

“You look so beautiful,” Marco murmured with a heavy lacing of lust to his tone, watching at the way Jean bit at his lip. Praise was Jean’s biggest turn on, and Marco knew it. He squeezed his hip gently and started to run his hand up and down Jean’s thigh, and he could feel the hair standing on end at the contact. “I just… _nn…_ love watching you fall to pieces on me,” he said. Jean’s legs were trembling around him.

“Marcooo,” he whined, bucking his hips despite himself. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what the fuck you’re doing, stop it.”

Marco laughed and slowed his pace to a standstill, ignoring his partner’s anguished groan of “I want a fucking divorce” as he shifted back against the headboard, drawing Jean in closer. “Nah you don’t,” he purred, kissing down Jean’s neck as he started to move Jean with him, “you love me too much.”

“F-fucking yes I fucking love you,” Jean groaned, burying his head in the crook of Marco’s neck as he tightened his legs around him. “I… ngh… love you more than fucking anything and fuck _me.”_

“Is that a request?”

Jean latched onto his ear and tugged it. Hard. “Marco, I swear to f-fucking God…”

He was close. Marco could tell by the way his stomach muscles were tensing; he was holding back, and his moans were quickly turning to sharp, small whimpers as he quickened his pace. Marco swept his tongue along the base of Jean’s throat, tasting the salt of his sweat as he whined in his grip, and slid his hand between their bodies to Jean’s already leaking cock. Jean let out a choked noise that Marco recognised, and he began to stroke him steadily, kissing and nipping at every available patch of skin as he listened to Jean’s moans and keens and “fuck Marco yes yes yes right there oh god yes,”s as he thrust into him desperately, needing to reach his own peak that was rushing upon him.

Jean’s legs tightened around him to an almost painful grip and then they were coming, the both of them together, Marco with a whimper and Jean with a cry as he shuddered like a leaf in a gale.

It was only when Marco untangled himself from Jean that he realised he had dug into the skin of Jean’s back with his nails and left red crescents in his wake. “Oh god I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said, skimming his hands over them as horror stole through him.

Jean let out a small, tired chuckle as Marco forcibly rolled him onto his front to look at them more closely. “Marco, have you seen the state of your sides? They are going to bruise, baby, and bruise bad,” he said, propping his chin on his folded hands as he glanced up at the ceiling. “I’m not gonna envy you trying to ride something other than me in a few days’ time.”

“That’s not the point! Oh Jean, your skin…” Marco leant closer and kissed the angry marks with a guilty sigh. He was so careful. He handled Jean like he was made of glass most of the time, so conscious of every wince or frown or gasp, but every now and again they would shatter together. He knew Jean didn’t care, but he seemed more worried about dredging up bad memories than Jean was. He nuzzled against the back of his neck and pressed his lips to the dark shaved undercut he found there.

Jean chuckled at the contact. “Stubble,” he reminded him, and Marco felt his stomach lighten. “Marco, it’s fine. Honestly. If I had a problem, you’d know about it.”

Marco let out a small grumble and flopped down beside him, pecking his cheek. “I’m sorry, you know how I worry.”

“I know, I know.” Jean smiled and shuffled closer, rolling back onto his front and draping an arm around him lazily. “Mr. Worry Guts who loves me too much.”

“No such thing as too much.”

“Hmm.” Jean gave him a smug smile after that. “We came at the same time again.”

Marco blinked at him. “Good observation Sherlock.”

“I like it when we do that. Feels so good. And we do that a lot.” Jean yawned. “I should get a logbook.”

“Please, for the love of God, do not get a logbook.”

Jean let out a sulky huff and rubbed his face against Marco’s, stubble on stubble, in retaliation. Marco let out a yelp and ducked his head at the treatment. “Brute!” he called, giving him a playful shove away.

Jean grinned. “Don’t make me naked wrestle you for the right of a logbook, Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt, but get a logbook and I might go off you.”

“Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt concurs with Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt and thinks they should do it anyway because Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt loves him far too much for that to be a significant threat.” Marco’s laughter was quickly muffled by Jean’s mouth covering his own, their kisses lazy and slow in the cooling heat of sex and sweat.

They stayed like that for a few minutes more, still curled in one another’s makeshift heat, when Jean spoke up. “Do you want to phone your Dad today?”

Marco froze. All warmth seemed to instantly freeze into something painful and shiver-inducing. “Do you have to bring him up just after we’ve had sex?” he asked weakly. “Not the best pillow talk, you know.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “Marco, come on. Are you going to call?”

He frowned. He looked away. He sighed. “I don’t know,” was his eventual answer. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Bullshit, you were thinking about it all evening,” Jean scoffed. Marco hated how much he was right. “Look, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to do. But maybe it’ll help. You never know.” Jean’s gaze flittered down. “At least your parent wants to find you.”

Marco felt a stab of guilt. “Jean…”

Jean washed a hand over his face, letting out a grunt of distress. “Ugh, I’m sorry, that was a really shitty thing to say. I’m not trying to shift the pity party onto me, honest, I just… that’s what your father could be like, but he came to find you. So, clearly, he wants to say something to you.”

“But what if it’s just, ‘hey son I have a new family now and I’d love to give you some money to get you away for good’?”

Jean hesitated. He shrugged. “Free money?”

“ _Jean_.”

“Phone him. I think you should. You shouldn’t deny something that’s offering itself to you. Or some shit like that. I don’t know. I’ve just had my brains fucked out, m’not sure I make sense.”

Marco sighed. Jean made more sense than he liked to admit. Silence fell between them, the kind of comfortable silence that settles between two people after a while of being together, and he listened to Jean’s breathing get slow and relaxed as he slipped into sleep. He shifted a little to watch him, and smiled down at him.

_Out like a light. Dork._

He brushed a hand through his husband’s hair, earning a small snuffling noise and a sigh as Jean turned to keep the contact, and closed his own eyes. Sleep didn’t come to him as easy. He envied Jean; he would fall asleep in an instant, even though he did seem plagued with nightmares every now and again. Marco never had nightmares. But what he would do was lie there in the dark whilst Jean snored and let himself fester with worries and concerns until he was too exhausted to stay awake. Even then, he sometimes got interrupted by Jean clinging to him and screaming some sort of nonsense about giants or wolves or boys with green eyes. Marco had grown used to it, and no matter how much Jean apologised and tried to beat himself up over it, he didn’t care.

He tried to wriggle away to give Jean his space, but Jean clung to him like a koala, a tired ‘nooo’ escaping him as he woke again at the motion. Marco huffed good-naturedly and planted a kiss on the side of Jean’s head. “I need to clean up,” he protested.

“No you don’t,” Jean complained, his grip tightening. “You can be my hot mess for a little longer.” Marco had managed to sit up, and was at the edge of the bed- but there was no way he was going to be able to stand up with Jean wrapped around him. He rolled his eyes.

“Jeeeean.”

“Marcooo.”

He gave up. He rolled back down onto the bed to kiss Jean again, waiting until their tongues started to roll against each other before pulling away. The scowl he got in response was enough to made him chuckle. “I just want life to always be this simple,” he said then, running a hand through Jean’s hair as they lay there, tangled up in one another. “Is that too much to ask?”

Jean shrugged. “Eh, simple is boring. Playing at partners with no excitement would bore you eventually, if nothing happened.”

Marco’s gaze softened against Jean’s. “I’d never get bored of you,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the line of Jean’s lips like they had only just noticed them.

Jean’s smile was bright, his hands reaching up to wrap around Marco’s neck. “Really?”

Marco smiled back. There is was, Jean’s self-doubt monster in all its glory. It was smaller than before, weaker too… but it was there. He nuzzled a spot on Jean’s neck that made him emit a breathy laugh, and moved back to stare at him. “Really, really,” he breathed.

Jean’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “If you just quoted Shrek at me I’m gonna kill you.”

Marco laughed and patterned kisses all across Jean’s tingling skin, loving the sound of Jean’s laughter. It wasn’t the gruff chuckle he had in public, or the belly laughter he got when he found something particularly funny. Jean was _giggling._ Full-on giggling. He was arching himself closer to the kisses and giggling like a child, and it made something inside of Marco instantly warmer. If he had the choice, he wouldn’t have left their bed all day- but alas, there was work to do.

He was half out of bed when his phone rang. Both he and Jean, without even hesitating, lunged for it. Marco was a touch too slow. Jean held the squawking phone above his head with a triumphant cry as Marco leapt at him. “Jean, give it to me!” Marco hissed. “It could be my sponsors!”

“Well, in that case…” Jean punched the answer button with a large grin before Marco could stop him. “Hellooo, Marco Bodt’s personal rider at your service!”

“JEAN.” Marco grabbed for the phone, face flushed in horror.

Jean was still grinning as he listened to the poor caller’s reaction- and then the grin disappeared. “Oh, er, hello,” he mumbled, sitting up a bit more against the headboard. “Yeah… yeah, he’s okay. Yeah, I’m the duck guy.”

Marco frowned. _Duck guy? Who would-_

His eyes snapped open.

_Oh. Oh no._

All attempts of colour drained from his face.

Jean was staring wide- eyed at him, the chatter of Jacob Bodt filling the phone in the silence. He didn’t know what to do. His father was talking to his husband, without realising it was his husband. And Jean was keeping it together and talking as calmly as he possibly could, shooting Marco panicked looks at every break, and all he could do was stare blankly at him. He was looking more and more alarmed by the minute, and Marco knew he would have to save him. Then the clinching words came. “Er, yes, uh… no, no I haven’t checked, but I’m sure Marco… is Marco here?” He posed the question to Marco more than to the waiting man on the other end.

Marco hesitated.

He breathed.

He beckoned for the phone with shaking fingers. Jean handed him the phone wordlessly, and shuffled close to press a kiss to his shoulder, reassuring him. Marco brought the phone to his ear. “H-hello?” he began.

“Marco?” Jacob sighed. “You are there. I- I was just wondering how Titan was getting on, after- y’know, the uh… shot.”

Marco got his eloquent nature from his father, it seemed. “Oh, he’s… he’s fine,” Marco replied.

“No side effects?”

“N-no. He’s okay. J-just a bit sulky, he doesn’t like vet visits that much.”

“I thought so.” There was a weak chuckle down the line- a chuckle Marco recognised too well. There was a pregnant pause. “How are you?”

Marco went quiet. How was he? Now, that really _was_ the question. “Okay,” he decided after a while. “I’m okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. Jean’s head was on his shoulder, steadying him in the reality he needed just when he was teetering on the edge. Marco was grateful- he searched for Jean’s hand in the blankets, and found it with a sigh.

“That guy who works with you… he’s a strange one,” Jacob said. He was clutching at straws, and it made Marco’s chest tighten. “What’s his name again, Jack? John?”

“J-Jean,” Marco replied. “His name is Jean.” He felt the man in question tense beside him, but said nothing.

“Jean, yes, that’s it! Er, he seems nice enough. You had him long?”

Marco blinked. His father thought Jean worked for him? He decided, stupidly, to roll with it. “A few years,” he answered. “Seven next summer.” He could feel Jean’s gaze on him now, and tried deftly to avoid it.

“Good, that’s- that’s good. How do you know him?” Jacob seemed to have latched onto the subject of Jean, to Marco’s growing horror. He could talk about Jean all day to anyone who would listen; he would constantly talk about how amazing he was, how much of a good boyfriend he was, how talented a rider. He was more than happy to tell people that they were together, proud of it even. He would shout it from the rooftops if he thought it would make Jean happy… but he couldn’t tell his father. No. Not him. It would be like coming out all over again, and he could not handle that at that moment in time, in the morning, with Jean on his shoulder listening intently. He couldn’t handle the potential collapse of what he’d worked so hard to get.

He swallowed dryly.

“He’s a friend, j-just a friend.”

He knew that those simple words had done some damage the moment he felt the pressure on his shoulder lessen. Jean sat back, and Marco followed him with his eyes, feeling them widen at the look on Jean’s face. He looked like he’d had his heart ripped out. “N-no, don’t-” Marco began. But it was too late. Jean shook his head and moved away, off the bed and onto his side, pulling on the clothes he’d thrown aside without another glance back. He moved quickly, like he wanted to be out of the situation as soon as possible, and Marco let him go. No matter how much it hurt, he had to let him walk away. He would go running after him- he always did. But first…

“Don’t what?” Jacob asked, confused.

“Um, not you, uh… I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now. You’ve caught me at- at a bad time.”

“Oh.” He could practically see his father deflate in his mind’s eye. Had he really thought their conversation was going that well? “Well, I guess if you don’t want to talk about i-”

“We’re talking about it,” Marco said immediately, before his father could wrangle out of it. “You… you should come over. Have coffee, or something.” He wet his lips. “W-when are you free?”

* * *

 

He went to find Jean the moment he was off the phone. He left it on their bed as he pulled on his clothes and rushed down the stairs, his breath coming in short pants. He knew what he’d said was wrong, that he shouldn’t have been scared to own up to his father that he was with, he loved, he was _married_ to Jean- but he had. He couldn’t help it. But the look Jean had given him… he’d looked so betrayed…

He quickened his pace as he burst out of the door and onto the yard. His leg still pained every now and again, and today was the day it decided to shoot blinding pain up his calf. Marco nearly fell over, and had to grab onto the nearest wall for support. As the pain rocked through his leg like the severest form of cramp imaginable, he looked across to the arena. _Jean._

He was lunging Littlefoot in the arena, the colt making short huffing breaths with each circuit he took, and Jean was totally focused on him. He had him trotting, the perfect parallel stride working to Littlefoot’s advantage as he moved in a wide arc around his owner at the centre. Jean’s gaze was completely fixed on the colt, though the closer Marco got, the more he could see his hands shaking. That was what betrayed him. Marco’s chest spiked. Jean didn’t even bother to look up when he leaned against the fence, watching them both. Marco bit his lip. “You should put the training saddle on him while you lunge. Could help.”

Jean didn’t even twitch.

Marco sighed. “Jean, I’m sorry.” The words sounded meaningless coming out of his mouth, but he had to say them. It was a good starting point, if anything else.

Jean let out a small, shuddering sigh in response. For a moment, all that could be heard was the gentle footfalls of Littlefoot as he trotted around the arena. Marco thought that maybe he’d gone to find Jean too early- maybe he needed more time on his own- but then Jean spoke. “You couldn’t tell him, could you?” he said in a small voice that didn’t suit him. “You couldn’t tell your Dad that you were with me.”

Marco leant on the fence a little more. “It’s not like that, baby,” he said. “I didn’t want to tell him over the phone like that.”

“Like talking to him face to face is gonna make it easier.” Jean clicked his tongue at Littlefoot and the colt made the smooth transition into a canter. “I don’t want you to be ashamed of me, Marco.”

Marco’s stomach flooded with horror. “I’m not!” he said, loud enough to spook Littlefoot a fraction off his stride, “I’m not ashamed of you, Jean, I am proud of you. I am so, so proud of you, and I feel so lucky that you’re with me.”

“If you’re not ashamed of me then why couldn’t you tell him?” Jean shot back, and Marco’s mouth snapped shut. _Well. That was the question._

He slid his eyes shut and hung his head over the arena fence. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m scared, Jean. I haven’t spoken to him in so long, and the last time we were talking I was a completely different person. And… and talking to him again, being around him again, it brings me back to how I used to be. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I need-” He cringed. “However cheesy this sounds, I need you. You know I do. I wouldn’t have been able to speak to him if you weren’t there.”

When he opened his eyes again, Jean was staring at him. Littlefoot had dropped down to a walk, the lunge line slack between the two of them. Marco opened the gate of the arena and slipped inside, shutting it securely behind him. Jean took a step back, like a worried horse, and it made Marco’s stomach twist horribly. “Please don’t,” he said. It came out like a whine by the end.

Jean bit his lip. He turned back to Littlefoot and unclipped the colt’s lunge line, securing his cavesson so it wouldn’t slip off. “Funny thing is, I pretended too,” he muttered. “When I was talking to your Dad, after you walked away, I- I didn’t say anything about us. I didn’t call you my husband, or my partner. I didn’t even call you my boyfriend, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t get mad at you.” When he turned back to face him, Marco saw the tears threatening to break free from Jean’s eyelids. “But I still did. I’m an idiot.”

Marco shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he said, stretching out a hand to him. Jean didn’t hesitate this time. He walked over, head lowered and eyes blinking rapidly to rid him of the emotion he didn’t want to show. He took Marco’s hand weakly, still looking away from him, and it made Marco frown. “Jean, look at me,” he said, leaning to rest his head against the other’s. “It’s okay to get mad. It’s okay to be an idiot. I’m an idiot too.” Jean snorted out a feeble laugh at that. “I shouldn’t have said that, no matter what. You had every right to be mad. But I never did it to hurt you, you know that don’t you?”

Jean gave a numb nod in response, his eyes flickering back up to Marco’s. “Are we weak, Marco?” he asked. “I mean, we are grown-ass men and we still get scared and worried like kids. That sounds weak to me.”

Marco paused. Then, he looked around him. In the intensity of Jean’s emotion, he’d been pressed against the arena fence with Jean bearing down on him. He smiled. “Remember the last time we were like this?” he asked, pulling Jean even closer by their connected hands. Jean’s spark of recognition was enough of a reply. “I was terrified, Jean. Did you know that? When I leapt off that old horse and kissed you like it was the last thing I’d ever do, I was so damn scared.” He let his free hand rise up to trace the line of Jean’s jaw with a soft expression. “We both started off terrified, Jean. We started off as two scared boys who didn’t know anything, were scared of what everyone thought of us, what would happen to us, and now look.” He planted a kiss on Jean’s cheek, and felt relief settle in him when Jean didn’t pull away. “We’re older now. We’re stronger. We’ve gone places. I may get scared sometimes, and you might too, but we are not _weak_.”

Jean nodded against him, and Marco relaxed. Just a fraction. “I really do love you,” Jean murmured, leaning in close to brush his lips against Marco’s. “And I know that you would never hurt me. I know that. It’s just… sometimes, I think…”

“I know what you think, and I understand. So long as you know I won’t do anything to you like he did, then I’m happy.”

Jean gulped. “Y-yeah… yeah, I know…” He sighed, and clutched him closer. Jean was always so adamant that Marlow hadn’t affected him as much as Marco thought it had, but in moments like this, when he felt Jean reach up and kiss the ticklish spot near his ear, it was all too obvious. He chuckled at the treatment, and felt the tension in Jean’s hand loosen. They each had their ways of calming the other, and working as Jean’s security blanket was something Marco had got more than used to. Jean pulled away after a moment and let out a larger than normal sigh. Marco arched a brow, questioning him. “This is gonna be a whole crock of shit if your old man turns out to be a big old homophobe isn’t it?” Jean asked.

Marco flinched. “Don’t remind me,” he sighed.

“Do you think he is, though? He didn’t seem-”

“I don’t know anything about him, Jean.” Marco looked past him then, over to where Littlefoot was stood watching them. The wind was picking up his mane, and it rolled against his neck like the rushing tide. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “He’s like a stranger to me now.”

“Well, he can be an acquaintance at least.” Jean gave him a weak smile. “And if he’s, er, not a raging gay-hating lunatic, then… then maybe there’s some hope in him.”

Marco laughed, the worry disappearing for a brief moment. “Oh, shut up!”

“I’m glad you talked to him, though. Is he going to come here?”

Marco frowned. “Er, eventually.”

Jean blinked. “Eventually?”

“Well, he’s really busy for a while: it’s the foaling season, so all the stud farms need vets on a daily basis. He said he’s going to be on call for the next fortnight or so. He said he would try to get some time off, but I, uh, told him not to.” _The more time he had to prepare for his father_ , Marco thought, _the better._ Besides, he didn’t want the man to lose the best part of his business just to see his estranged son who he may or may not want to keep in contact with. “We sorted out a date after the stud farm foalings were sorted, and he was off-call and back on normal shifts.” He’d also realised that Bastien would still be looking for potential adoptions for the two of them. Having the adoption process coincide with his father’s visit was probably not the best plan. Pushing back his father’s visit would separate the two a little more and Marco liked it that way. He would have the chance to get excited about the adoption, at least, and maybe even forget about his father for the time being.

 _Yeah_ , he huffed to himself, _as if._

Jean wasn’t frowning like he thought he would be. He expected him to be annoyed that he was pushing it back, putting it off, but all he got was a smile and a gentle kiss. Jean didn’t move away from the kiss after it was done; he lingered there, his breath tickling Marco’s lips, and then he was hugging him. Really hugging him. Holding him like he was going to break if he didn’t. “J-Jean?” Marco questioned.

“Proud of you, baby,” Jean said, nuzzling into him, and at that moment Marco was certain he could do anything.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO this is finally finished *party poppers*
> 
> I had to split it into two because it was such a beast though. It makes proof-reading it easier, at least, and nobody wants to read a massive 12k chunk of writing, right? :P
> 
> I think this is the bit that really gets me. Obviously. Because Jean is an adorable little nerd and shows how much he's grown up ugn my baby <3 And also snippets about their wedding which is always squee-worthy!
> 
> As always, you can find me on my tumblr here: attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com and seriously feedback is so SO appreciated, either on here or on there :)

He changed his mind two weeks later.

The date had been set in stone a week or so before, and Marco thought that that might have steadied him. But no. It had made him worse. He was so nervous that his anxiety was kicking in fiercer than it had been before, the squirming stomach becoming a daily thing that he tried to suck up and deal with until Jean noticed. During a visit, Jacques Kirschtein had admitted to Marco that, when he had been a teenager, he had had similar problems and that he found ways around them. His and Jean's relationship remained a little strained at times, but he was trying, and that was all Marco cared about. 

Marco was chugging every herbal remedy Jean’s father had recommended, but it didn’t help as well as he hoped it would.

The day his father was visiting, Jean woke him up early in the morning and demanded he get dressed. “Wha’? Why?” Marco complained, clinging to the sheets stubbornly as Jean tried to yank them off.

“Because you’re not going to sit here worrying until he arrives,” Jean replied, succeeding in pulling them off of him. In the process, he nearly went flying into their chest of drawers, but by some miracle missed them by inches. “We’re going riding.”

And so they did. Titan was waiting for Marco when he stumbled out of the door, tossing his head and whinnying a greeting. Jean was in the process of leading out Littlefoot, the young horse skittering away from the giant that dwarfed him. The backing had been going well, and Jean wanted to see how Littlefoot would react to going out of the yard for a little while. “This was a ruse wasn’t it?” Marco groaned, walking up to Titan and running a hand up his nose.

“Not _totally_.” Jean grinned. “I thought Titan would be a good influence on him.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call him a model citizen, Jean.”

“It was either Titan or Jester.”

Marco cringed. “Eesh, fair point.” He mounted Titan from the mounting block as his leg was a little tender that morning, and Jean went through the motions with Littlefoot, lying flat across the colt’s back to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind about the whole thing before swinging his leg over and settling properly. Littlefoot shifted a little under Jean’s weight, but Jean’s broad smile was enough reward.

They set off slowly, Littlefoot bobbing a little to keep pace with his giant companion, and Jean giving as much rein as he could afford to. They decided to take a small, gentle path up the hill and onto the green, where there was open space and springy ground if the worst were to happen. They could skirt around it, have a little wander in either direction of the moor, and be back in time to meet Marco’s father. Remarkably, Marco wasn’t thinking about him at that moment; he was just too focused on Titan to worry, and he was sure that Jean had known that all along. Titan took the hill like a trooper, blowing heavily through his nose once they reached the top, and Marco was surprised to see that Littlefoot was stubbornly keeping pace with them. He grinned. “He’s still got his baby fur and he’s keeping up. I think you’re onto a winner there, Jean.”

Jean snorted. “Yeah, in what? The mongrel Olympics?” He patted the young horse’s neck nonetheless, a smile crossing his face. “He’s doing so good, aren’t you Littlefoot? What a good baby boy,” he cooed, leaning over to scratch a spot near the colt’s ear.

“Give me strength.”

“Oh you can shut the fuck up.”

Marco laughed and gave Titan more rein. The gelding let out a grunt of thanks and lowered his head, champing at the bit idly as they walked, though Marco caught his horse snatching looks at the little bay colt following him with intrigue. He was sure Titan was sizing up the youngster, checking to see if he was worthy to be walking with him, and he stifled a laugh. “You want to step it up a gear?” he asked Jean. He nodded eagerly, and Marco clicked his tongue. Titan’s ears pricked up. “C’mon, lazybones, get going!” Marco chuckled, and with an indignant snort the gelding sprang into a fluid trot. Marco sat to the pace with relative ease, Titan’s neck arching as he began to pay more attention to where his feet were being placed.

For a moment, Marco didn’t see or hear anything to suggest he was with another horse. But then he heard a broken “Wo-oa-oa-oah,” coming from Jean. He turned to look- and let out a small laugh.

Littlefoot’s strides were shorter than Titan’s because he was smaller in body, meaning that he had to compensate with extra strides to keep up. The colt’s ears were up and his little nostrils flaring pinkly as he trotted, his knees coming up like a dancer’s, and Jean was finding it impossible to sit to. He was jolting up and down in the saddle like a child on a merry go round, his hands trying to pull Littlefoot back, but the colt had his mind made. He was going to keep pace with Titan if it killed him.

Marco slowed Titan down a fraction so that his strides collected, and soon enough the colt was blowing noisily beside him, nose to nose with Titan. If a horse could look proud, Littlefoot did, at that moment. Jean ,however, looked less impressed. “He’s a li-i-ttle shi-it!” he managed to get out before he gave in and started rising to the trot, giving Littlefoot the biggest sulky glower Marco had seen.

“He’s just young,” Marco said, laughing at the way the colt reached out and nipped at Titan playfully. The large gelding just gave him a disgusted look before fighting Marco’s hands. “Woah, no, no you don-!”

Too late.

Titan had the bit between his teeth, and they were cantering before Marco could even register what was happening. He heard a wail of “Oh for fuck’s sake,” and then he heard the mini thunder clap behind them as Littlefoot, too, leapt into a faster pace. Marco let out a bark of laughter and made sure to stay upright as they cantered in case Titan mistook his posture for the promise of a gallop, and just let the gelding reach the top of his cantering speed, the rocking motions surprisingly comfy to sit to. Jean, however, didn't sound as though Littlefoot's stride was as comfortable.

They managed to bring their horses back to feverish walks after a spell, with Jean complaining loudly about how Littlefoot ‘wasn’t as good a boy as he’d thought’ and he was ‘getting no extra meadow hay tonight’. Marco just laughed, dropping Titan’s reins completely and letting the gelding make his own way home. Jean glowered at him. “You can sit there and be all relaxed on your saint of a horse, but I’m the one with the little hellion now!” he grumbled, keeping a tight hold on his reins as Littlefoot began to throw his head around and prance unnecessarily.

“Titan had his moments,” Marco said with a chuckle, stretching in the saddle as Titan picked his way down the slight incline towards the stables. “You know as well as I do how bad he was.”

“Well, at least time’s changed one of us,” Jean replied, chuckling slightly at the way Titan craned his neck around to stare at him. “What, you know it’s true too!”

Marco was still laughing at Jean’s disgruntled expression when they clattered into the yard, Titan tossing his head and prancing on his toes at the more solid ground. For a moment, Marco forgot who he had to see- and then he saw an unfamiliar car parked next to the arena. His stomach tightened. Jean followed his gaze to the car too and let out a gentle sigh. “Marco, it’ll be okay,” he said. “Just keep yourself grounded and you’ll be fine. He won’t hurt you.”

Marco wasn’t convinced. That was what he’d done before, after all; he had walked out on Marco and his mother like they meant nothing to him, at a time that Marco needed to know he was wanted and loved. How could he not want to hurt him now, when he was stable and happy, when he’d been perfectly happy to do it when he was all broken up? Marco slid off of Titan’s back without answering, ducking under the gelding’s neck to run up the stirrups on his offside, and hoped Jean didn’t notice.

Of course, Jean did. He always did. He grabbed Marco’s hand and pulled him closer, Titan’s bulk blocking them from view. “I love you. Okay? And it’ll be okay, I know it will be. Just… just whenever you think you’re going to snap, or break, think of something else. Something happy, something to… to…”

“Block out the bad things?” Marco chuckled. “You talk like a therapist.”

“Shut uppp, ya nerd.” Jean squeezed his hand encouragingly. “And don’t, uh, don’t tell him. About us. If you think it’ll make things worse.”

Marco shook his head. “I never wanted to hide you away, remember? You’re not some dirty little secret, Jean. I love you, and he needs to know that. It’ll just be… hard.” He bit his lip and stepped closer, resting his head on Jean’s with a sigh.

Jean gave him a small, chaste peck on the lips, and Marco smiled despite himself. “Do you want me to join you after we put the horses away, or-?”

“Yes. Yes, please, er… stay. With me. Please.” Marco squeezed his hand again, for luck, for reassurance, for anything, and felt Jean squeeze right back. He took a deep breath, and stepped out from behind Titan.

Jacob Bodt was stepping out of his car, tugging at his collar awkwardly. Out of veterinary clothes, he looked just like any normal person. There was nothing special about him; the button up shirt and slightly battered jeans weren’t new, or neat, or anything really. He would have got lost in a crowd without any chance of being picked out. But when his eyes met Marco’s, he felt a little jolt at his navel nonetheless. _It’s going to be okay_ , he reminded himself, _Jean’s here, Jean’s here._

Jacob gave him a small wave, making Marco’s stomach jolt again painfully, and stepped closer to the horses. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice gruff with lack of use, and Marco gave a small, brief smile in return. Jean had Littlefoot’s saddle slung over his shoulder, and hesitated before walking to the tack room. Marco didn’t want him to go. He mentally slapped himself. _Don’t be a baby. You’re a grown man._ His father’s eyes fell on Titan after that, and narrowed at the way the gelding threw his head and held it high, ears pinning back at the sight of him. “Now, now, there’s no need for that,” he muttered, making soft hushing noises at the nervous horse. Marco took hold of the reins in case Titan decided to bolt, but the horse stood stock still, watching the older man come towards him. Marco could feel him trembling. Jacob got within touching distance, and Titan jerked his head away, whinnying nervously. His hand dropped to his side. “He remembers,” he said, in slightly awed wonder.

Marco nodded. “Y-yeah, he… he took a while to get better.” Titan shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of Marco’s grip, and sidestepped with a flick of his tail. Marco went with him, talking soothingly under his breath. “Um, could you just… step back a minute. I need to put him awa-”

“I can do that.” Jean appeared next to him like he was waiting to be summoned, eyes darting from Marco to Jacob and back again. “I need to put Littlefoot away anyway.”

Jacob’s gaze shifted. He smiled. “Oh, hello Jean. It is Jean, yeah?”

Jean nodded. “Yup, that’s me.”

“That the colt you were training last time I came?” he asked, gesturing to Littlefoot.

“Yeah, it is. He’s doing really well, though he needs to learn how to listen to leg aids a bit more.”

“Huh. Well, good luck with him. He’s a lovely looking horse. He’s gonna make a happy hacker, that’s for sure.”

Jean smiled politely and nudged Marco gently. “Honestly, go on. I’ll put him away, he’s fine. I’ll take his saddle off in the stable.”

Marco resisted just a touch when Jean tried to pull the reins out of his hand, but then relented with a sigh. Putting it off was not going to help matters. He let a chuckle free when Titan whipped his head around and butted Jean full in the chest, his attempt at friendliness, and Jean gave the gelding’s shoulder a playful whack. “Come on troublemaker, let’s get going,” he said, and gave the reins leading to Littlefoot a firm tug. The little bay colt grumbled but did as asked, his feathered feet a muddy brown from the dirt path they’d taken. Marco watched them go, Jean sandwiched in between the giant ebony and bouncy mahogany rumps of their retreating horses, and let out all his breath in a single rush. _Okay. Calm. Focus._ “Do you want to come inside? I have coffee.”

Jacob’s smile sent crinkles to his eyes. “Sure, why not?”

Marco led the way, hands shoved in his pockets as he tried furiously to think of where to start. He had so many questions, so many things that needed to be said, and they were all buzzing around his head like angry bees waiting to be picked. The first thing he opted for, as they reached the farmhouse door, was, “Where are you living now?”

It wasn’t too private a question. Jacob scratched the back of his neck again as the door swung open. “I’m living in a small village on the outskirts of Shigansina. You remember that place, don’t you? The place with the military stables?”

“That’s where I got Titan,” Marco answered, nodding, “I remember.”

“Well, there’s a small village just out of there. Not many houses, but it’s close to the main road when I need to work.” Jacob let out a weak chuckle. “I wasn’t going to stick around in Jinae, not with your mother on the warpath.”

“She had good reason,” Marco bit back.

Jacob quietened. “Y-yes, she… she did, I know, I’m sorry.”

Once they were in the kitchen, Marco tried to make himself busy. He tipped over the sugar pot, tried to replace it with salt and decided to call it a day once he forgot to boil the kettle. Jacob had made himself comfortable on one of the chairs, and was looking idly around at the cheery little space. Not much had changed since Marco had grown, he knew, but Eleanor had changed it once his father had left, claiming it was a ‘new start’. He’d not wanted the kitchen to be colourful- she had made it the brightest room in the house. He wasn’t a fan of putting photos on display- there were lots of them. Everything he wasn’t keen on, Marco’s mother had done. It was a new found freedom, not spite, that had swayed her hand.

Marco noticed that there were a lot of pictures of him competing now, and spotted too late a picture of his wedding day near the fridge.

He stiffened.

Thankfully, his father couldn’t see it from where he was sat. He was too busy paying attention to the pictures of him leaping Titan over difficult combinations, standing in winner’s arenas with a gleaming smile and Titan’s eyes bright and alive.

“I saw you on television,” Jacob said to break the tension rippling around the room. “The Recon League, I think it was. Last year. You were amazing, Marco, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. That combination was the stickiest looking obstacle I've seen in a while, and Titan just took it in his stride, it was quite something. You and Titan are really going places, aren't you?”

Marco hummed in response, his back to him. _Focus focus focus._

“I didn’t think you’d ever get over what… what happened to you,” he said. “I’m so glad you did. I’m proud of you.”

His fingers gripped the side of the kitchen top. _Focus focus focus._ He thought back to what Jean had said: to think back to something happy. He shut his eyes. He tried to calm himself. Then he thought back to the picture near the fridge.

_He hadn’t been able to stop laughing during the service, because it was just so **ridiculous** that something in his life was going right. Jean had had to keep whacking his arm to get him to shut up long enough for the poor minister to run through the service. He could remember the way Jean leaned in and started making fun of all the stupid hats people were wearing, and that would just set him off all over again. At one point, the minister gave a little huff and said, “Honestly, Mr. Bodt, control yourself,” which obviously made doing so ten times worse. Even Jean started giggling..._

He felt himself relax. The counter stopped biting into his palms. He was okay. He blinked furiously and turned back to his father, who sat looking a little nervous. “A-are you alright?” he asked.

Good. No ‘son’ added onto the question. He understood.

Marco nodded. “Sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, sitting down opposite him. He didn’t trust himself with making tea at that moment, and Jacob didn’t mention it.

“I was saying that I was proud of you. All my years of vetting horses and I’d never seen such a mucky accident.” His face twisted into a grimace. “Even though there was no severe physical damage, the… the mental scars were there for everyone to see. I’m surprised Titan’s even rideable.”

Marco let out a short breath through his nose. “It took a while, like I said. I was referred to a trainer who specialised in traumatised horses.”

“Levi Ackerman?” Jacob nodded. “I know him. He’s a good man, a good horse person.”

Marco lowered his eyes. _He knows Levi. He probably knew Levi before he bothered to contact me, wasn’t that wrong of him? Or was he being stupid?_ He bit his lip. He thought back.

_The way Jean nestled into him as the vows were being read out. It was the only time Marco stopped laughing, because it was important that he was at least sensible for that. The way Jean slid an arm around his waist to throw him off the final vital lines, and causing a small smattering of laughter at the fact Marco’s voice got that little bit higher and desperate. He’d just wanted to kiss him. Just wanted that. His mother had wolf-whistled when they had. Jean’s father had just gazed at her with utter contempt and muttered that there was, ‘really no need for that’…_

“Yeah. He was… he was really good for Titan. And he taught me a few things to help with him, too.”

“Join up?”

Marco glanced back up to meet his father’s earnest eyes. “Y-yeah, join up,” he said, a small smile gracing his face. “Levi said that Titan trusted me a lot more than I thought he did. It turned out that he just has a high protective streak in him, and it kicked into hyperdrive after the accident.”

He wanted to tell him about that night it changed. The night when Marlow had threatened him and Jean, the same night that had replayed in his mind over and over for years after the incident. The night that Titan stood between them, snorting and angry, and everything got a little clearer. And then the next morning with the ferals… oh god, the ferals… Titan would always be suspicious of dogs. But he didn’t. He just shrugged loosely and looked down at his hands. He was picking at the skin around his thumb, something he always did when he was nervous- it was a bad habit picked up from Jean. This was hard. He didn’t like small talk.

“When are you going to ask me, then?”

Marco glanced up. Jacob was staring back at him, his eyes older and oddly soft. The grey was really beginning to show in his hair. Marco hadn’t noticed it so starkly before. His expression must have been questioning, for Jacob let out a heavy, haggard sigh. “Marco. You want to know why I left, don’t you? It’s a perfectly reasonable question to want to ask. It’s okay. Ask it.”

Marco’s throat grew tight. How could he say that, so clearly and painlessly, without knowing what it would mean to him? He bunched his shoulders, and took in a deep breath. “W-why did you leave, Dad? Why did you go?”

Jacob ran a hand through his hair with a soft exhale. It wasn’t enough to be a sigh, but Marco could tell that his father was thinking. And thinking fast. “Before I say anything, I want you to know that I regret it. From the bottom of my heart, I regret it. If I could do my time again, I wouldn’t have even thought about it. It has been hard, the years away from you.”

“Hard?” Marco echoed weakly. He wanted to explode. “Y-you thought _your_ life was hard?”

_He remembered laughing as they ran out of the church like two teenagers eloping, remembered how he wouldn’t let go of Jean’s hand and kept spinning him around to kiss him whenever they broke stride. He’d thought it was corny to have a horse and carriage, but Jean said they needed horses in their wedding. So they’d arrived outside to find Titan and Sina, groomed to perfection, waiting for them with the cleanest looking saddles Marco had ever seen. Jinae got a rude wake-up call with the sound of the wedding bells and the clattering of hooves as they raced down the road in their suits and on their horses and laughing so freely it felt as though they were walking on clouds, however corny that sounded..._

“You have no idea how hard it was for me, how hard it was for mum.” Marco tried to keep himself from breaking, he really did. But it was hard. It was so, so hard. “I had nightmares every night. I would wake up screaming. Neither me or mum got any rest for the first few months afterwards.”

“Marco…”

“She tried to take me to therapy, but we had to stop because she couldn’t afford it. I didn’t want to burden her, so I just learnt to muffle my screams with a _pillow_ so at least one of us got a good night’s sleep.” His voice was rising. _Oh no. Calm down, calm down…_

“Marco…”

“Every time I heard hooves outside my window, I would panic. I’d hear mum cry at night, but I didn’t feel like I could comfort her because I was part of the problem.” Marco took a sharp breath, and hated the way it rattled strangely in his chest. “It took me a month and a half to even look at a horse again. And you say that _you_ had it tough?”

_They had their reception outside, because it was forecast as good weather. There was a marquee, a paddock to let the horses rest and an endless expanse of congratulations to get through, but Marco hadn’t wanted to be stood next to anyone else to plough through the hand shaking and ‘thank yous’ with. Every now and again Jean would lean into his side and press his lips to the side of his neck and whisper a ‘thank you’ against his skin. Those were the only words he paid attention to..._

“Marco, I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be.” Jacob looked wretched. He looked beaten down, and humbled, and Marco was glad. He needed to know how much it had hurt. “But honestly, I wouldn’t have helped. I would have made things worse.”

“You were my _father_.” Marco shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered, because you were _there_ , and that would have been enough.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I was in a bad way, Marco, a very bad way, and you were better off without me.”

“How do you know that?” Marco snapped. “How did you know that I would have been better? I clearly wasn’t! It took three years for me to get back in the saddle. Three. Years.” His hands were shaking. _Where was Jean? He needed him_. “And you thought you’d take the easy way out.”

“No…”

“You’d swan off and leave us to save your own skin.”

“Marco, it’s not like that.”

“YES IT IS!” Marco shouted. “OF COURSE IT WAS. IT WAS MY FAULT, IT HAD TO BE. DON’T TRY TO SPARE MY FUCKING FEELINGS.” He was on his feet now, breathing like he’d run a mile, and Jacob was just staring up at him, alarmed but still. There was a heavy acceptance in the way he sat there, and it riled Marco even more.

He didn’t hear the footsteps until he felt the hand on his shoulder, and he whirled around to see a wide- eyed Jean beside him. He felt his temper cool a fraction, and he glanced back to his father before focusing back on Jean. A sudden sense of disappointment fell over him like a crushing blow, and he felt like everything from the neck down was suddenly made of rock. He’d let Jean down. He hadn’t stayed calm. He’d got it wrong. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking halfway through his words. “I tried… I tried, Jean.”

“Hey, ssh.” The hand on his shoulder drifted to his back, where it started to draw small circles between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay, just calm down. Alright? You’re fine, you can lose your temper, it’s allowed.” Jean’s gaze flashed over to Jacob, and Marco saw his eyes narrow. “What did you say to him?”

“Jean, it’s fine…” Marco tried weakly, but Jean’s eyes didn’t weaken.

“Is it really your business what we talk about?” Jacob asked tiredly.

“Yes it fucking is, actually!” Jean snarled.

 _Uh oh._ “Jean, please don’t,” Marco mumbled, but Jean seemed dead set on getting his two cents on the conversation.

“If you’ve told him it was his fault, I swear to God…”

“Jean!”

Jacob’s expression darkened, and Marco saw a flash of his own temper there, stewing. “I thought I told you it was none of your business,” he said, still calm. Still collected.

“Jean,” Marco said again, pleading, and finally he listened. He tore his gaze away from Jacob to let it rest on him. Marco sighed. “You need to calm down too. It’s okay. I lost my temper, like you said, I need to… need to listen to him, and not just vent.” Jean looked at him again, and really looked. It didn’t take long for him to be satisfied, and Marco sat down shakily with Jean on his right. Jacob didn’t question it again. “You just… it’s not just you leaving then. It’s the fact that you… missed so much. You never saw me do any of the things I’m proud of, except maybe on the television. Can’t you see how hard that is?” he said.

“I know,” Jacob said, “and I shouldn’t have missed them. I wouldn’t have missed them. I don’t know what compelled me to do that.”

Marco sucked in a mouthful of air. It was now or never. If he didn’t take the opportunity, it would probably burst out of him like an alien. “You missed my wedding, you know,” he managed to get out. “I got married. A year ago, actually.”

Jacob’s eyes widened. “You got married?” he repeated, and there was the same awe, the same pride, the same wonder Marco had heard before. “Well, that’s… that’s great. Congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?”

“The lucky girl is right here,” Jean said bluntly. Marco’s elbow slipped and nearly punched himself in the face. Jean’s face, however, was completely steady. “I’ve been told I look ravishing in blue.”

Everything went silent. Even the birds stopped chirping outside, liked they were stunned at the news too. Marco bit his lip and buried his face in Jean’s shoulder with a small, pained groan. He didn’t want to look at his father. Didn’t want to see the way he was undoubtedly staring at them like they had just sprouted an extra limb. He waited for the words of disgust, of shame, of plain _disappointment,_ but they didn’t come. Somehow, the silence was worse. It let Marco fill the gaps for himself. He opened an eye and glanced at Jacob, hoping.

Well, he didn’t look mad.

He looked… _confused_ , perhaps, but not mad. That was something. His eyes were large, and darted from Marco’s face to Jean’s. Jean hadn’t softened his expression a fraction, his claim becoming more solid the longer he sat there, letting the words sink in.  

“What, do you need a kiss to validate it or something?” Jean muttered after five minutes of total, back-breaking silence.

“Jean!” Marco cried, recoiling from his shoulder with wide-eyed surprise. Now was not the time for Jean to start getting cocky. He could feel his face growing hot. This was not going to end well. Why would it? He didn’t expect anything better.

“What?! He’s just sat there for God’s sake!” Jean defended, gesturing wildly to Jacob, “And I haven’t kissed you in over twenty minutes!”

“Er…” Jacob managed to get out. Marco’s attention turned to him again, something spiking in the pit of his chest. “He’s a… he’s a needy one, isn’t he?”

Marco blinked. _What._ That was it? No ‘I’m so disappointed in you’? No ‘I wanted a straight son’? _Nothing?_ Marco felt a strange surge of disappointment, and pushed it down with a slight frown. He shouldn’t have felt it was anticlimactic, but there it was, milling around in his mind like a badly scribbled signpost stating that he was, in fact, rather pathetic.

Jean, instead of taking offense like Marco thought he would, smirked in Jacob’s direction. “You have no idea, seriously. Though Marco does give as good as he gets.” To Marco’s complete horror, Jean _winked_ at him. If he thought he was turning red before, he definitely was now.

“Jean, could you please not. You’re not helping.”

“Neither’s letting him sit there like a waxwork, but I see you’re letting him do that.”

“ _Jean.”_

“Fine, fine, I’ll just... go make tea.” Jean shuffled out of his seat, but made a point of draping his hand around Marco’s neck as he passed him. Marco was sure that, over his head, Jean was shooting Jacob a look of fierce protectiveness. He knew the look. Jean had mastered it long ago. Eleanor often called it the ‘wolf look’, and for good reason. Marco patted his hand absently, and with a small huff of acceptance Jean moved away to the counter to boil the kettle.

Jacob’s eyes followed his newly revealed son in law’s progress around the kitchen, still a little stunned, but Marco knew that these things took time. Not everyone was so happy and joyous as his mother had been about his relationship with Jean; trying to explain it to the other assorted Bodts he knew was… difficult, to say the least. At least Jacob wasn’t demanding they kiss to make sure like his aunt had. That had been an awkward visit.

“I’m sorry,” Marco said eventually, causing Jacob’s eyes to flick back to his own. “It… shouldn’t have come out like that. I wanted to tell you, but not like that.”

Jacob’s voice croaked a little when he spoke again, but he regained it quickly enough. “You don’t have to apologise, it’s… perfectly fine. I’m just a little surprised. You don’t look…”

“Gay?” Jean interjected from where he was shovelling sugar into his cup. “Awfully sorry, I left my high voice and floppy wrist upstairs today, maybe next time.”

“ ** _JEAN.”_**

“Sheesh, alright, alright, I’m making tea like a good husband.”

Jacob bit back a smile at Jean’s comment. “No, no, he’s right, I… am older, I’m a little set in my ways, but I don’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry.”

Marco blinked. His father… was apologising to _them_? For being ignorant? “I don’t understand,” he said blankly.

“Well, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t expect it. Though, from the way you were talking together and the way Jean talked about you that day we met, I should have guessed you were an item.” Jacob gave a loose shrug, and attempted a smile. “You could have done a lot worse.”

Jean snorted from behind Marco.

“And I didn’t try to contact you before because… well, I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed. “What made you think that I want to see you now?”

The smile fell off of Jacob’s face. It was like looking in a mirror. “Because you want answers, and I can give them to you. You have a life now, Marco, and a good one. You have security, you have this place…” His eyes wandered over to the back of Jean’s shoulders. “You have someone who cares about you. You’ve grown up, and got strong.”

Marco bit his lip and shook his head. “N-no, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a high little chuckle, “I’m not strong.” His hands were shaking. “I’m r-really not. I'm s-stronger, but that's...that's not the same th-hing.” _Think back think back think back._

_Nobody had expected the rain. They had been in the middle of their first dance- Jean had picked the song, and Marco didn’t care- and then the heavens opened. It wasn’t a trickle of rain either; it was a steady downpour. It wasn’t like the romantic rain in movies. It soaked you to the skin and left you shivering and grasping for the nearest towel. It was **cold** rain, too. But, as their guests dived for cover under the awning, they just carried on dancing, badly, but dancing. The photos they got taken in the rain were some of the better ones, Jean had said later when they were both sick with the flu. It was worth it. It had been the first time Marco was kissed in the rain, but it definitely wasn’t the last. _

“You are,” Jacob stated flatly. “You’re not the scared sixteen year old I had to hide the horses from all those years ago.”

Marco sighed. He didn’t understand. He only saw the fact that he could ride Titan, could be around him, and thought that it was proof of his strength. There was so much more to it than that, but how would he know? Marco lowered his head. His shakes subsided. “Tell me, then,” he said in a tiny voice.

“Hm?”

“Tell me why you left.” Marco’s hands moulded into fists in case they decided to betray him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to take of not knowing, of dancing around the thing he had wanted to know for so long. He heard Jean drop a spoon onto the counter-top with a little too much weight, and then he was there, sat next to him and trying not to shoot a threatening glower in Jacob’s direction. He managed- just about.

Jacob looked back at them both, looked tired and saddened and a little haggard at the thought of it. But he nodded. “Okay,” he said, “okay.” He took a deep, rattling breath- and spoke. “I left because… your mother and I, we… we didn’t love each other anymore. And we hadn’t for a… for a long time.”

Marco felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. He couldn’t move; he just sat there, staring with a strange sort of emptiness at the man opposite him. Jean’s hand grabbed for his, and the amber eyes dared Jacob to make a comment. But there was nothing. He just sat as silently as Marco, looking the picture of disgrace. Marco blinked. “W-what?” he managed to stammer eventually.

“We didn’t love each other,” Jacob said, his voice cracking in places. “It’s as simple and as sad as that. Sometimes, it happens.” He looked down at the kitchen table, tracing the wood-grain with a thumb. “Your mother, she was always a free spirit, and stubborn to boot. When we met, she was headstrong, like she is now I bet. And beautiful… oh Marco, she was so beautiful, and… maybe we fell too fast, I don’t know.” He let out a sigh. “We didn’t argue very much, in the first years. But the longer we were together, the more we realised how much we drove each other mad. We… we made sure that you were never around to hear our arguments, and we never ever wanted you to know, Marco. We were wrong to do that, but your mother’s more than redeemed herself for it. I, on the other hand…”

His voice trailed off as he began to bunch his hands together. “We had a big argument the morning you took Titan up to the moor. Funny, how things like that happen- our problems seemed so big then, but after the accident…” Jacob had gone considerably paler the longer he spoke, and gave a worried glance up at Marco at the mention. Marco gave a tense nod. It was alright, he was over that, he was fine. “W-well, it was harder to keep quiet. Harder to pretend that everything was okay. I didn’t know what to do, Marco, nobody did. Your mother was the only one who could stop you panicking, I couldn’t help, every time I tried-” He sucked in a breath. He couldn’t continue; Marco could see it in him. He didn’t have the drive to finish.

But Marco knew. He could finish it for him.

“So you left,” he said. It wasn’t a question- it was a statement. Cold, and dead. He felt Jean’s hand give his a squeeze.

Jacob heaved out a breath that sounded like he had been holding it in for millennia. He nodded, shaky and reluctant, but it was a nod. “So I left,” he echoed. “I took the coward’s way out. I left. In the night. Without telling you. Without saying goodbye. Without doing anything that a father is meant to do for a son who needs him the most. And I don’t expect you to think that it was the right decision, because it wasn’t.” He raked a hand through his hair again, the flecks of grey rippling as they were disturbed. “I’m a coward. I ran. I’m weak. I don’t want you to forgive me, Marco, and I hope you know that that’s not why I’m here. You just had to know.”

Nothing was said for a while. Marco wasn’t even sure where to start. It wasn’t his fault. It… wasn’t… his fault? That couldn’t be right. He had to be the reason, had to be the cause, he was the broken one, wasn’t he? But this… this made sense, all of a sudden. He thought that hearing his father confess, give the reason would give him some sort of settling feeling. He thought that maybe all the bad feeling, all the anger, panic and resentment would disappear and be replaced with something more comforting. But instead of being satisfied, all he found was that more questions and feelings were surfacing. He was still angry. He was still panicking. He was still _confused._ But what could his father say now? He’d said all he Marco thought he had to. Why didn’t he feel resolved? He shared a look with Jean, and saw his husband’s eyes soften as they looked at him. He wet his lips. “You’re not weak,” he mumbled.

Both Jacob’s and Jean’s eyes flew to Marco. He didn’t blame them. That was the only thing he could say that didn’t feel painful crawling out of his mouth.

Jacob blinked. “I’m not?” he asked. He chuckled humourlessly. “I was pretty sure I was.”

“You came to talk to me. That’s strong.” Marco toyed with his ring absently. “What was weak was leaving it so long.” He breathed out heavily. “Do you understand what I went through? I thought it was _me_. I thought I was the reason you left for so long, and maybe I was, in a roundabout sort of way. But you let me believe that for seven years. Seven y-years…” His voice cracked. He was coming apart. He couldn’t stop it. “H-how could you?” he whispered. It was a small, broken noise, and he felt Jean’s arm around him immediately.  “How could you do that to me?”

Jacob said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say. He didn’t try to defend himself, or comfort Marco. He just sat there. And then, he stood up. “I’m sorry, Marco. I shouldn’t have come here. I had no right to come back into your life like this.” He took a piece of paper from the table and a pen and scribbled something down hastily, his hand shaking. “Here’s my… number… in case you want to contact me about Titan or anything… really…” He left it there, in the middle of the table, and it felt like a canyon was suddenly gouged out between them. Marco stared up at him, not quite believing it. He was running again? Was that the only thing he knew how to do?

For a moment, Jacob hesitated. Marco found himself hoping that he wouldn’t go, even though the other half of him wanted to scream at him to get out of the house and not come back.

_I hate you. Go away and leave me alone._

_..._

 

_No, no, please don’t, don’t go._

“I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll go now, I have some patients to attend to.” He gave a weak, insincere smile, and didn’t even leave Marco the chance to protest, or even call out a goodbye. He walked out of the kitchen so fast Marco was sure that if he had blinked, he would have missed him. The room suddenly felt a whole lot lighter. Marco let out a breath.

“Marco?” Jean questioned, a hand running up and down his arm.

“He left,” Marco said faintly. “He left again. I can’t believe it.” He turned into Jean and let out a small, broken sigh as he nuzzled into his shoulder and let his natural smell envelop him. “I thought he was going to stay this time. But I guess old habits die hard.” Jean tensed. He pulled away from Marco, and he was left blinking in surprise. “Jean, wha-?”

“Give me a minute.” He slipped out of his seat, giving Marco a small kiss on his forehead, and practically jogged out of the house after Jacob.

Marco knew he should stay in the kitchen, not to follow them. He didn’t even know what Jean was going to say to him, and if it was just going to be a stream of abuse then he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it. But he couldn’t even wait a minute before he got up from his chair and stepped out into the yard, blinking back the sudden ferocity of sunlight. He walked as quietly as he could through the first line of stalls heading to the main yard and stopped at the tack room listening intently. He couldn’t hear any argument, so that was always a plus. And then he heard footsteps.

“So that’s it?”

Jean was calling out to Jacob. Marco heard the footsteps stop. “Yes,” he heard Jacob sigh, “that’s it. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, and frankly I don’t blame him. I’ve not been the person he needs.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re in the clear.”

Marco frowned. He peeked his head around the corner and caught sight of the two men facing off. Jacob was only half-turned to Jean, but he didn’t need to be. Jean’s words were demanding more attention than a look ever could. Jean didn’t look… angry, exactly, but he was definitely tense. His fists were clenched, his breathing a little heavy, and Marco noticed the concern flash across his father’s face. “You don’t understand, do you? You can’t come here, tell him everything and then wander away with a clear conscience. That’s not how these things work.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Jacob reiterated.

“Then fight for him,” Jean replied. It was as simple as that. Four simple words Marco had never realised he’d wanted. He wanted his father to fight for him. Wanted him to make an effort. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it. Believe me. It might take some time, but… you want to be part of his life, yeah?”

Jacob let out a huff through his nose. “Yes,” he said eventually. “Yes, I do.”

“Then you have to try. You can’t just sit back and hope he’ll do it for you.” Jean sighed. His hands were thrust into his pockets now, his eyes on the floor of the yard, and if Marco hadn’t been so close he might have missed what he said next. “I almost lost him once because I was too wrapped up in my own shitty problems, and I don’t know where I’d be if I’d run. You’ve run before, but now’s a good a time as any to slow down.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to listen to me. What do I know? I’m just a colossal fuck up your amazing son decided to bring into his life and make better. But he’ll forgive you, if you give him a reason to.”

“I don’t deserve him-”

“No, you don’t. You don’t deserve him. Neither do I. But you know what the difference between us is? I try to wake up in the morning and think how lucky I am that he wants me, instead of worrying about how he’s worth twenty of me put together.” Jean tucked his head into his chest then, and Marco recognised the motion; he was getting conscious of what he was talking about. “It… took me a few years to figure that out. But you need to figure that out now, before it’s too late.”

Jacob was spluttering. His eyes were wild, afraid, like he was trying to find a way out, and Marco suddenly felt sorry for him. Was he that terrifying a person that he could reduce his father to the nervous wreck he was becoming? He shook himself. Maybe they were more alike than he realised. “Would you forgive your father, if he treated you like you didn’t matter?” Jacob asked finally. Marco felt a flare of panic in his belly.

Jean stiffened. For a moment Marco thought that all of the years would come back to haunt him; he imagined every bad word and shouting match, every retort that he wasn’t good enough being thrown back in Jean’s face, and he clenched his fists. Jean swallowed painfully, and replied with a degree of calmness in his voice, “My father didn’t treat me well. And I haven’t forgiven him. But… we’re getting there, with time.” Jean lowered his voice a fraction. “And that’s what you and Marco need. Time. Don’t abandon him just because he’s upset right now- give him that chance, if you give him anything.”

Jacob looked like he was going to respond, but Marco chose the moment to step out from behind the corner and all attempts at speaking quickly vanished. Jean looked over his shoulder at him, his lips drawn in a fine line as if to suggest that he had been caught doing something Marco wouldn’t approve of, but he softened when Marco gave him a playful nudge. “You’re getting so good at the whole ‘talking’ thing, you know.”

Jean turned bright red. “H-how much did you hear?”

“I heard enough.”

“Motherfucker.”

Marco chuckled, and turned to his father. He realised, at that moment, that he wasn’t some amazing, cosmic human being who could break him with a single word- he was just a man. A man that looked a little sheepish at being caught having an in-depth discussion with his son’s husband.  He let out a breath. _Okay. He’s not some monster. He’s just a man, a scared man who knows he’s done wrong._ He couldn’t say that he forgave him. Not yet. Jean was right- it would take time. “The fifteenth,” he said.

Jacob blinked. “What?”

“The fifteenth. It’s a Sunday. We… we have roast dinner on some Sundays.” He glanced at Jean a little nervously. Jean’s brows raised, urging him to keep going. “M-mum’s not going to make it, but… if you’d like to come, then you can. Jean’s father’s going to come too-”

“He secretly likes them now,” Jean interjected.

“- And it would be good to, uh, see you. If you wanted.”

The way Jacob smiled at him, and the way Jean threaded his fingers through Marco’s hand, let Marco know that he had done the right thing.

* * *

Jacob Bodt went to the dinner. He got on with Jean more than Jacques did, and was more than happy to lay the table for them. It was only when both fathers spotted the adoption papers addressed to their respective sons on the table, and had stopped having joint aneurisms, that talk really got interesting.

Marco and Jean glanced at each other, trying not to beam at the prospect, and realised it would be a very long dinner.


End file.
